Goodbye to the Ground
by Kelly123
Summary: What if Katniss did find Peeta's room that night after the Games in the Capitol? ONE-SHOT.


_Hunger Games...oh wow. _

_Who needs vampires when you have Presidents with blood and roses on their breath?And who needs wizards when...wait no, scratch that. I need wizards, and I feel I always will. Sigh.  
_

_Anyway.  
_

_No plot, just thoughts in my head churned out on a pink laptop...what if Katniss **did** find Peeta's room that night after the Games in the Capitol?_

_This had the potential to get real juicy, but alas, i maintained a squeaky rating. None of this is mine, story is Suzanne Collin's and title is Brand New, blah, blah, bah...._

_And away we GO!  
_

* * *

The knob turns easily in my hand, and with painstaking slowness I rotate it clockwise.

I'm desperate to keep quiet, to make no sound in the already silent hallway. Even so, the slight click emitted when the lock pops free and the door falls open seems to echo deafeningly around me. I pause for a moment, holding my breath as I wait for a response that thankfully never comes. The roof was empty, but I can't go back to my room just yet. I have to see Peeta, to try and figure out this…whatever this is. He must be in his room, and this must be it, but it all seems too easy. Nothing in the Capitol is easy, I've come to realize, and I fear a trap. I wouldn't put anything past these people, especially now that I've made such a fool of them all. When a swift glance in either direction assures me that I had not been detected, at least not yet, I draw a deep breath and began to press against the door.

However, this doesn't work out as well as I had hoped. My efforts are quickly met with resistance. Something on the other side is pushing back.

Or someone.

Jumping back, I remove my hands from the door as though it were on fire. If I was wrong, if this wasn't Peeta's room, if I had come stumbling uninvited into the sleeping chambers of a capitol official in the wee hours of the morning…

I may have survived the horror of the Hunger Games, the pain, the hunger, the dehydration… only to be killed by an aristocratic snob with a ridiculous affected accent and not an honest days work on their baby soft hands.

Great job Katniss, Gale would be so proud.

Then again, given my previous experience this little bump in the road should be no big deal. My reaction time has got to be faster than some soft city-dweller, and a quick arrow to the heart before he has time to alert the others should solve this problem in no time flat. Of course, this would be easier if I had any arrows to begin with. Or a bow.

I back up softly, every muscle poised and ready to make a quick getaway at the first sign of trouble. I'm already mapping my escape route back to my room when something stops me.

"Who's there?" Comes a voice from the other side of the door, a voice that was unaccented, male, and beautifully familiar. My heart soars.

"Peeta! Peeta, it's me, let me in!"

Nothing happens, and my breath catches painfully in my throat. I wonder for one heart-clenching second if maybe he won't open the door. Now that the games are over, and our charade is no longer necessary, will Peeta have no need for me? Will we go back to our old lifestyle, one where neither of us existed to each other except in casual passing?

But I need not have worried, because in another instant the heavy wooden door separating us is flung open, and is replaced by a much more welcome sight. The boy, the one with blonde hair and kind eyes, is before me then, sweeping me into his arms in a tight embrace. I allow myself to return the hug for only half a moment, but my jangled nerves have me glancing back over my shoulder and into the darkness.

"Not here, inside!" I whispered, and his gaze followed mine, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Okay, okay, you're right."He replies in a hushed tone.

He pulls me behind him and inside the room, shielding me with his body as he remains in the hall. He surveys the surroundings, the tension straining at the veins in his neck visible to me even in the nonexistent lighting. I reach out and touch his shoulder, and he relaxes noticeably. He lifts his own hand to cover mine, and our fingers entwine themselves of their own accord.

"No one's out there, at least, I don't think." His voice is strained, and his grip on my hand tightens. He steps inside the room and shuts the door, making sure every lock is secured and lodging a chair under the knob for good measure. There's no way such a meager defense would do anything to stand in the way of the Capitol should they try to separate us, but regardless I feel safer with it in place.

All the while, he never lets me go.

When we are safe (or, at least, as safe as we can get) inside, he pulls me to him once more. He raises my hand to his lips and breathes my name, his eyes closed as he presses his lips to my knuckles. The affection, so second-nature after our time in the Games together, feels almost foreign in civilized quarters. Why is he still doing this, still pretending to be in love with me, even when there is no one to fool? I'm embarrassed, though the blush on my face is hidden in the darkness.

The darkness. Of course. The Capitol is counting on this, knows that we would try to find each other, to regroup, to mesh our stories together so that our little act wouldn't fall apart outside of the area. Why else would our doors be unlocked, would we be allowed to venture outside our rooms? I was right, this was too easy. Surely their security is better than this. Unless they want us to do exactly what we are doing, to be lured into a false sense of refuge by the silence and darkness surrounding us so that we let our guard down and expose ourselves. They are watching us, waiting for some proof of the lie we so famously wove to their utter humiliation. They are not going to let us get away with it, no matter the cost.

I am angry, the emotion overtaking my fear at being caught and joy of seeing Peeta. I wonder if I our lives will ever have a moment of normalcy ever again.

Peeta knows all this, knows what they are doing to us, certainly. Peeta, who understood from the start what would pull the hardest at the viewers heartstrings, who knew how to play this star-crossed lovers angle so much better and more passionately than I ever could, and who knows better than to give up now. After all, if he hadn't planted that seed of unrequited love before the games, at least one of us would most definitely be dead right now. Possibly both. The thought is chilling, but absolutely real.

He is pulling me into his arms once more, and the shudder that passes over me as these realizations race through my mind can easily be attributed to his embrace. I allow myself to fold into his body, temple pressed against his cheek while I stare over his shoulder to try and find what I'm sure he's already discovered. Microphones, hidden cameras…who knows what other top-secret technologies the Capitol has bugged the rooms with? Money is no object to them, and I'm sure they spared no expense. However, Peeta's room is completely dark sans the meager glow from the door, and even my eyes are unable to distinguish anything out of the ordinary.

He is calm now, seemingly soothed by my close proximity, and I take a few breathes and try to mimic his demeanor. He was always a much better actor than I though, and I feel how stiff my arms are as they wrap themselves around his neck.

"Even here?" I whisper in his ear, but I don't dare pull away to look at his face. I already know the answer, so I continue before he has time to respond. "Do you know where they are, have you found them yet ? Peeta what…what…" My voice is tinged with desperation, and I can't go on. He doesn't respond, but his hands begin to rub small circles on my back. He must know better than to speak, not out here in the open. I follow his lead.

Taking a small step back, I drop my arms from their awkward position. He pulls back slightly, his face a mask in the darkness. When he opens his mouth to speak, I press a finger against his lips and smile in what I think the Capitol would perceive as a coyly demure fashion. Letting my hand trail down his chest, my fingers find their way to his own, and again we are entwined. I squeeze firmly for good measure but try to keep my eyes soft, and begin to walk backwards, leading him over to his bed. He stalls for a moment, feet heavy and glued the ground like a good boy's should be, but I give a gentle tug on his hand and he begins to trail after me.

"Katniss?" He asks, just my name leaving his lips, a safe a word as any for the Capitol to hear. His whisper is strained, as though his breathing is becoming difficult. He must be as nervous as I am about how we are going to pull this off tomorrow.

In response I only giggle, a vapid sound that feels foreign on my lips, but is innocent enough. When I feel the mattress bump against the back of my legs I let go of his hand. Now I turn my attention to the bed, sliding back the covers, lifting his sheets up and slipping underneath them. Again, Peeta stands his ground, eyes wide and…scared? Does he know something I don't? Desperate for our privacy, I beckon him to lie down next to me, trying to look seductive but feeling ridiculous. His eyes grow wide, and I wonder if he is laughing at me in his head. Gale certainly would be.

Gale? Why…where does he come into this equation.

He doesn't. He can't.

Looking almost bashful, Peeta climbs in bed next to me, and I pull the dark sheets over our heads. I open my mouth to ask him what he knows, how he found out they were still spying on us, but find myself unable to speak. Not because I'm tongue-tied, but because something is in the way. Like Peeta's mouth. Because the second we are enclosed in blankets, his lips are on mine, placing slow, languid kisses (that make my mind go foggy and my toes curl) on my mouth, my neck…when he starts to trail down my collar bone I jolt myself back to reality and pull away.

"Katniss? What's wrong? I thought you…I mean, if you don't…" Again , his breathing is erratic, and I'm confused.

"You just kinda, wow, I mean… caught me off guard there lover boy." I try to make my whisper sound lighthearted, hoping the sheets will muffle our voices enough so that we can finally talk. "Did Haymitch tell you to do that too?"

"Haymitch? "He asks, sounding utterly baffled. And a little too loud.

"Shh, keep your voice down! Yeah, Haymitch, remember the guy? Kind of odd…smells funny?" I say quietly, hoping he'll get the hint.

"Oh yeah, vaguely… I just don't understand why you would want to talk about him here…now?" His voice squeaks a little, very strange.

"Well yes, I don't see where else we're going to have the privacy to get this all sorted. When did you get a chance to talk to him today, earlier he said-"

He cuts me off, his voice still raised. "Get what sorted?"

"THIS!" I wave my hand between us, which is hard to do considering there is hardly a breath separating our bodies and he is for the most part on top of me, supported by his elbows. "Haymitch said that they were angry at us, for making such a fool of them with the berries and all. Surely he's told you this? How else would you know about the cameras in your room?"

"Cameras? What-"

He stops himself then, mouth snapping shut before he can get another word out. His whole body tenses up, and what little I can see of his face contorts into a mask of disbelief. He stares at me, wide-eyed and wordless, for longer than is comfortable before his face goes blank. Swiftly he rolls off of me, yanking the sheets down from over our heads as he does so, and exposes the both of us to the room. In silence he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, jaw tight. I gasp, and scurry to cover us once more.

"Are you crazy?! They have to think that we're in love still, everything hangs on maintaining this image! If they know the truth, we're dead for sure!" I know my voice is strangely squeaky, but he doesn't even spare me a glance as I rearrange the covers over us again. He is doesn't say a word as I fuss with the sheets, and is completely unresponsive when I touch his face to try and reclaim his attention.

"You know, "He says, his voice so low I can barely make out his words, purposely not looking at me. "it wasn't that long ago that I thought we were willing to die, embracing it even."

Now I'm thoroughly confused. "What? But Peeta, you knew that there was no way the Capitol was going to let the both of us die. They simply couldn't have a Hunger Games without a victor, the very idea would be enough to cause a riot. You know how they love their victors here, they had to let us live!"

"And that's why you did it." It's a statement, not a question, but I answer anyway.

"Of course…isn't that why you did?"

Finally he looks at me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark beneath the sheets as much as they can, but surely I can't be seeing him like this. This has got to be due to the shadows, or my lack of sleep, or any other logical reason to explain why Peeta's eyes are so dark and glassy…almost as though he is about to cry.

"No Katniss… no, it's not. I wasn't pretending to play along or putting on some kind of a show for the Capitol when I put those berries in my mouth. It wasn't a game to me, it was all real, very, very real. I would have eaten that poison without a second's hesitation had they not stopped us, and I would do it again if given the chance. I would do anything for you, anything to save you, because…because a life without you… I would rather die than to lose you. Katniss, I love you."

My heart stops. My mouth gapes open like a fish but no words come out. I'm struggling with a sound that is rising up in the back of my throat like some slimy little creature when a noise jerks us both back to reality.

"My, my, can't you too keep your hands to yourselves?" Comes a heavily accented voice. We bolt upright, sheets falling to our waists in the process. I'm still shell-shocked as we stare at the attendant, who is grinning like the cat that got the cream, but Peeta doesn't skip a beat. Shooting the man a cocky smirk, he slides an arm around me.

"Just five more minutes, okay." He says, already lying back and pulling the sheets up over us when the man seizes his wrist. I choke back a scream at his action, but quickly see that his grip is light. I swallow hard, and in turning my gaze to the man I can tell he is more interested in staring holes through the flimsy material of my nightgown than turning us over to President Snow.

"You two better save that stuff for the camera. I know people who would be willing to pay good money to watch something more than those kisses you gave us at the Games." He licks his lips slowly, "As a mater of fact…" He trails off suggestively, but the way he is eying me makes his thoughts perfectly clear. The whole thing makes me shudder, and I feel Peeta's arm tighten around me.

"Enough of that." He snaps, "She'll leave, okay. Just let me walk her back to her room."

"Oh, I think I can handle that."

I rear back as the attendant extends a hand.

"I can manage perfectly well on my own, thank you very much." I say, my chin high but my eyes purposefully avoiding his. I'm on my feet and out the door before either of them can stop me, those hunting reflexes coming in handy yet again. I guess Peeta must have convinced the man not to follow me, because thankfully I arrive back at my room alone.

Collapsing on my bed, I bring my hands up to cradle my aching head. I thought tonight would give me answers, but instead a thousand questions race through my mind. The possibility that Peeta could actually love me, that this whole ordeal between the two of us was real in his eyes…it just couldn't be true.

No, surely it wasn't. Peeta didn't love me, he barely knew me! We might live in the same district, he might have given me bread when we were children, but all those years…he had never said a word to me. There was no way he was in love with me! He may have grown to care for me during the Games, sure…but I saved his life, he probably felt indebted. I would be lying to say that I didn't care for him, but I wasn't in love with Peeta…

He was just…he had heard the attendant coming. That had to be it! The attendant had been suspicious when he couldn't hear us under the sheets and had come to investigate. Peeta must have know they would suspect something was up, and he had been playing along to cover up our tracks. Of course he had said those things to cover his back lest we be overheard. He was thinking on his feet, just as he had when that awful man had come into his room. Just as he had during the Games.

It was all still part of the act…right?

* * *

_Umm...wrong doll, sorry about your luck. Still not sure if i'm shipping Gale or Peeta...or maybe even Finnick? What do you guys think?_

_My first time writing for this particular book, so obviously, feedback would be amazing!_


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